Eternal
by ingra-of-mordor
Summary: Bella's first meeting with the Dark Lord, and she finds herself...well, I don't quite know. Just from her perspective pre-potter. TRBL A one-shot written late at night.


Eternal

Disclaimer: I no own Potter...sadly.

The wine was highly intoxicating; she hid behind it to fill the cup of silence. She was cold because it was cold there, even with the fires blazing eternally. The fires that burned here were ambitious...she chuckled...reaching out the sky.

Malfoy Manor was always cold. At first, she didn't mind because it kept her alert, ever-ready; the aching cold made her feel alive as it kissed her lips, made her aware of her being, long hair warming her back and her pale arms. Now it burned in her bones, yet she didn't care. She was growing used to pain, starting to enjoy it. Eying the man through the glass, drowned in richness and redness, she smiled, slicing through to Him.

"I have one question before I join you..."

He didn't glance at her but seemed to be hearing her. She supposed that he didn't want to make it seem as if she had a choice. And she didn't have a choice. But the wine made her play with the idea, the richness of it, and she was eager at the blooming in her head that burned her tongue. He only seemed stoically amused, lips in an empty smile, staring out at something she couldn't see.

The idea of Him was highly intoxicating.

For He was unlike any she had come across. He was intense, cold intensity, and she wanted that most of all. He would become everlasting, intertwined in memory and force.

"May I be eternal too?" she muttered, favoring the taste on her lips, half-hissing as a new bout of frost hit her skin, and she rubbed her arms lightly, watching him intently with a half-grin. Was she not allowed?

She stifled a laugh that was also blooming without warning. My, this was interesting...this game made her heart pound. Delicious euphoria...She chanced a glance at the ornate ceiling full of dragons, blood, and the Malfoy Crest, the pure-blooded family's own jab for immortality...because what else was there but the need to be known.

Matter of blood, wasn't it...blood she had along with only the purest. A huge grin that she felt spread across her face and her eyes widened, riding on some bout of heat that had filled her. Yes...of course, He'd want her, she was the Ideal. Beauty...blood...she fell back for a moment, forgetting herself, managing to retain a hold on the ominous, slick glass. She did giggled then, feeling like she had slid back in time to earlier years where she could do whatever she damn well pleased. She could immortal if she so desired...

To her dismay, someone took the wine glass out of her hand and firm, warm, slender hands pulled her upright, with her hair askew, all in her face. Yet she grinned playfully at Him through her dark locks, licking her lips lightly. She was so glad the room was rich, full of forest green and mercury silver, for it made it all the more delightful and Him all the more...deep, burning to her memory. Making it real...

His eyes were what she loved the most, his voice second. His height wasn't too bad either...

His eyes were already eternal. Blood...she hated Gryffindor in some way, because those bastards had gotten the greatest of colors. Rich, there, never forgotten, the red that flows through everyone, everyone pure, and the Gryffindors claimed it. Damn...His eyes took it back from them. His voice held hints of the ocean, drown-worthy deep, murmuring, with something lurking underneath. Dark hair, rich like hers, not like the frailty of her cousins...He was made for immortality!

Just like she was...

He gripped her chin roughly, and she faltered a bit. Not in the rules...but then again, He was above them. She looked at Him, suddenly feeling like she was into deep of waters. His perfect smile cleared her doubts, and she could only listen to Him.

"Perhaps...if you please me, Bella," He murmured, smirking, studying her carelessly through half-open eyes...because she was His now after all.

She hoped she pleased Him beyond His expectations. She would be His greatest.

He claimed her mouth, crushing His lips against hers, and He tasted of wine in a new flavor she would crave for the rest of her existence. He made her warm...

She tasted metallic taste of blood in her mouth, and at first, she was puzzled. Then she felt the slight throb of her lower lips and smiled into His mouth. She wanted to taste herself too...after all it was all a matter of blood. She cut her tongue on the tip of her teeth to make it richer and powerful.

In pleasure, in memory...

Then her skin was becoming colder, and again she was puzzled because it seemed like she was in slow motion, dancing through a dream of the senses. Then she was warm again as He pressed Himself on top of her to claim her.

In her cousin's home...how unorthodox but quite memorable...we'll burn together, won't we?

She was on the floor, back against the carpet, and His mouth was traveling down her neck, traveling to explore her. And she couldn't catch her breath that was being torn from her. He seemed to be everywhere quite literally; she was even breathing Him in, subtle yet intense, woods, earth, cold, stone, _fire, _everything...

She learned quickly not to touch Him, and she was disillusioned before she was saved again by the senses. He had moved her hands away harshly, and the second time she tried He had pulled her arms behind her head. For a moment, she felt quickly...lowered, gone, not worthy to touch Him. It hurt her pride, and in foolishness, she persisted in her attempts until the pain became her first sense! Then she stopped, bleeding across her cheek, lip not worth mentioning, arms throbbing, and He continued as if nothing had deterred Him.

She stared blindly at the ceiling, wondering...if maybe...she would not last. Maybe a sign, a mark would be her only legacy. He could outlast her, if He chose to. The dragon...was what she remembered most about that night. It was dark, proud, powerful...not in need of anyone. And she was on the floor...

Suddenly it was much too intense.

Then He placed His mark on her left arm...then He left, Apparated away with no words. She wasn't worth it.

She sat in the room some time after, not even dressed, until luckily, she came to her senses. She was fully dressed when her sister came in, curious and smirking with that little mouth of hers. She quickly mumbled a blind thanks to whoever was listening that Lucius Malfoy had not accompanied his wife. She would have died...been promptly finished off. The wine had lost its effects, and she craved, needed something!

"How'd it go?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, mischievously (_almost maliciously, bitingly, knowingly!_). "Was He what you expected?"

"Oh..." she muttered, drawn to the fire for it preserved her now. "He was...much, much more...than I had expected."

Her sister waited eagerly, hanging on each word. Her youngest sister waited for more. Suddenly it was too much, and her head hurt. Everything hurt.

"Would you be a dear and fetch me some wine?" she growled, bluntly. Her sister huffed and clicked away somewhere, and her head _hurt _with each click of those damn heels. She was going to burn them! Maybe the whole Manor, JUST BECAUSE SHE COULD!! WHY THE HELL WAS SHE CRYING?!

In the end, in her desperation, she called on a House Elf who promptly brought her a whole bottle of wine. As the rest of the night bled into red, she drowned herself, clearing her head and watching the flames. Eternal...phoenix...then she grimaced. Damn Gryffindors take everything! Before she faded off into sleep, she thrown the bottle against the wall and screamed as it shattered into pieces...just because she could.

Now, in a colorless world, life being sucked out off her, she wondered desperately when she would die.

Author Notes: This is a weird fic, I don't even know where this came from! Ack! I should be studying anyway. But...I plan to have a more detailed version placed somewhere else...er...so if you like, review.


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